


A Dependable Hand

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Derailing Javert, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: There were no cannons fired within his soul, no guns discharged. The battle that took place inside him felt as inexorable, as chilling as the cold that had taken hold of Paris that night.Rivette finds Javert on the bridge.





	A Dependable Hand

It was cold.

Far below, the river rushed past. After the noise of the guns and cannons, the silence of the night should have been a balm.

Instead, the silence had gained a presence that surrounded Javert. It felt as if a wall of glass had suddenly sprung up between him and the world, trapping him in a space where nothing seemed to exist but the agony of an uprising within his own mind.

There were no cannons fired within his soul, no guns discharged. The battle that took place inside him felt as inexorable, as chilling as the cold that had taken hold of Paris that night.

Jean Valjean a good man. How could that be?

The man had shown him mercy, had released him when Javert had been in his power. He, Javert, who’d pursued him for so long!

Even now Javert remembered the moment of triumph when the cuffs had closed around Valjean’s wrists in Arras. For two blessed years, he’d been at peace, carrying this triumph within his heart as he moved on from the provincialism of Montreuil-sur-Mer to the offices of the Prefecture of Police itself. A fast rise for a man like him—a man who’d come from the prison hulks, just like Jean Valjean.

And his rise hadn’t ended there. Now it was he who oversaw the day-to-day policing of Paris. It was he to whom every police agent bowed, and from whom every thief fled. He’d worked hard to be where he was, and for all these many years, that satisfaction had sustained him.

He’d pulled himself out of that mire himself, after all. He was as righteous as Valjean was wicked. And with every arrest he made, he took one further step away from the prison hulks, and one further step towards that society of honest citizens. He’d needed neither lover, family, nor friend. All those things would only have distracted him from his devotion to his duty. And the satisfaction he derived from his accomplishments was better nourishment anyway.

Only now...

Now, something had cracked. Something had given way within him.

And now there was an invisible wall between him and the world he looked at, as if he’d taken a step out of it and found himself in a place he no longer recognized, with no avenue of return.

The fire of that old drive was gone. The sweet taste of satisfaction had turned to ashes in his mouth.

All that remained was the incessant, sharp ache of something that had cut him deep inside. Jean Valjean might as well have jammed that knife into his heart instead of cutting his bonds, for that was what he had done. Even now, something inside Javert’s chest was bleeding.  
But it wasn’t red-hot blood. Something chilling was seeping from that wound like poison, creeping through his veins until he could not think, could only relive those moments endlessly.

Valjean had spared him. _Valjean_. Valjean had saved a man’s live. Valjean had surrendered himself, had only begged for that body to be returned to his family.

And he, Javert, had spared Valjean in turn.

In the white-hot glare of the agony within him, Javert thought that he could see clearly—and what he saw was more unsettling even than the moment when Valjean had released him.

Valjean a good man. He, Javert, who had thought himself righteous, an evil man instead. Everything he’d done in all these many years, everything he’d lived for, turned to immorality.

And what was left now? Everything he had believed in was gone. There was no more certainty. Nothing driving him onward anymore. 

Was he to live like this now? Was he to return to his apartment, eat tasteless food, read books that held no truths, lie in his bed without finding sleep while all around him stretched these merciless walls of his own making that parted him from everything that had once given him meaning?

A tear dripped down his face. Another followed. The river below was rushing fast. The water would be as cold as the blood in his veins…

All of a sudden he tore himself away from the vision of the uncaring river beneath him to crumple by the side of the parapet. Sobs shook Javert, who had not cried for as long as he could remember.

Now, it seemed like something inside him had broken. Something had been unsettled and had begun to shift.

Within, a terrible avalanche began its descent, moving faster and faster. There was nothing to hold on to, nobody to call out to for help—only the terror of this alien thing within him, the structure of the world itself coming apart before his very eyes. All he could do was cling to the parapet and sob while below him, the roar of the river grew and grew.

And then there were hands on his shoulders.

A voice was murmuring something into his ear. At first, he could not even make out the words, but there was a firm shoulder beneath his face now and arms that held onto him as he continued to weep. When the avalanche within him came to a halt at long last, he found the landscape of his heart irrevocably shifted. Icy mountains had been left bare, rocky crags exposed to a wind that scourged the landscape of his soul even now.

Still, there was a measure of peace even in this frozen rawness. The avalanche had passed. The earthquake had finished. And somehow, he was still here.

When he managed to look up after long moments, he was not surprised to see that it was Rivette who had found him.

Rivette, whose worries he had brushed away—and who was now holding him with the tenderness with which one might hold a child, his hand stroking Javert’s head.

Javert wanted to laugh at the disgraceful display he had made, but nothing but a choking sound escaped him, his throat raw from his sobs. His tears had soaked into Rivette’s uniform. His face was wet, he realized when he became aware once more of the biting coldness of the wind.

The strange, translucent wall that seemed to have stood between him and the world was gone. Suddenly he could smell the stink of the river below, hear the distant sounds of the city at night—and he could feel the warmth of Rivette’s fingers where they gently touched his head.

It was icy cold. Every time he exhaled, a small cloud of mist formed in front of his face.

And despite the cold, Rivette had tugged off his gloves to hold him. To comfort him.

Javert should straighten himself up and apologize for the shameful display he’d made here. He should dismiss Rivette and either finish what he’d started, or return home.

Instead, he realized all of a sudden that he didn’t want to move. He was exhausted—not just his body, but this was a weariness that reached into the deepest recesses of his heart, which had been scourged and left raw. Even the thought of returning home was too much to contemplate.

He no longer wanted to cast himself into the river either. What did he want?

To remain here, like this, he realized. To feel the comforting weight and warmth of Rivette’s arms. To let the world turn on its own while he clung to the dim hope that whatever had been done tonight could heal.

To not be alone.

“Come, sir,” Rivette said after long minutes had passed.

Javert’s head was still resting on his shoulder. Rivette’s hand was still on his head, warm and comforting. He could feel the warmth of Rivette’s breath against his ear as he spoke.

“Let me take you home and offer you a glass of brandy. It’s been a very long day.”

Javert didn’t reply. For a moment, there was a blinding flash of shame at having allowed a subordinate to see him like this.

Then he felt the heat of Rivette’s breath again as he exhaled—and a heartbeat later, very gently, what only could have been the barest brush of Rivette’s lips against his head.

Once more the earth seemed to tilt beneath his feet.

Rivette... Could it be?

He had never thought of the possibility before. And if someone had pointed it out to him, if Rivette himself had dared to extend a hand of cautious invitation towards him, he’d have brushed it away with all the anger and indignation with which he’d brushed away that one, concerned touch in the carriage.

He should put a stop to it here. He needed no help. He needed no company. Least of all, he needed pity. Hadn’t he come this far on his own?

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Come, sir,” Rivette said again.

Javert shivered instinctively when Rivette’s hand fell away from his head at last. He leaned back, then raised a hand to wipe ineffectively at his wet face.

“Rivette,” Javert said, looking at the cloud of white forming between them at his words. “You... you want to take me home?”

Rivette stiffened. Javert watched as he swallowed, then licked his lips.

“Meaning no disrespect, sir,” Rivette said. “I just don’t think it’s right for you to be alone. Not after that sort of day.”

Javert scoffed. “I know what you mean,” he said brusquely. “I know what I look—”

His voice crumbled again, as if whatever wobbly path he was walking upon led past sinkholes that could open up unexpectedly, threatening to let him drop into that terrifying place once more at every step he took on this new road.

“Never mind.” Humiliated, Javert rubbed at his face again. “Your offer... You want me to stay with you tonight? Is that right?”

“I...” Rivette swallowed convulsively. His face was red, although that might have been caused by the cold. “Sir, I didn’t mean to—”

“What if I want to?” Javert said. “What if I’d say that I want to go home with you? Spend the night in your bed?”

He stared up at Rivette’s face. Rivette’s lips were slack, something wet gleaming on his mustache. Javert tried to remember how often Rivette had tried to extend a hand in friendship, and how often he’d rebuked it, allowing nothing but the loyal service he expected of his right-hand man.

Even now, with the freezing wind scouring his skin, he could still feel the warmth of Rivette’s hand.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to give in. Perhaps there was a way to let go and allow himself to sink under after all. Perhaps, in the morning, there would even be something worth salvaging in the shards of the man he’d been.

Or perhaps there wouldn’t be. Even so, for the first time in his life, Javert found himself longing for more of that touch. More of that warmth.

Rivette licked his lips again. “Then I would say that I’m honored, sir,” he said humbly, “but that perhaps what you need right now is sleep.”

“Do you,” Javert murmured. “Do you...”

Then he lunged forward. A moment later, his hand was on Rivette’s shoulder, Rivette’s back was against the cold stone of the parapet—and his mouth was on Rivette’s.

Javert had never kissed before. Dimly, he recognized that the kiss was awkward, the angle strange. Rivette’s mustache was tickling his nose while his own face was still wet with tears and worse.

Nevertheless, there was something odd in the warmth of Rivette’s lips against his own.

Rivette’s mouth moved against his, lips parting. Javert felt something thaw inside him at the little gasps that escaped Rivette—shocked at first, then helpless and yearning, as if this was indeed something Rivette had desired for a long time.

“Well then,” Javert said when he drew back, considering. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Slowly, Rivette struggled back into an upright position. He was breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, his face flushed, and his uniform askew.

There was something appealing about the picture, although Javert had never before condoned disorder in his officers.

“You’ll have a glass of brandy, sir,” Rivette said resolutely once he’d managed to stand. He extended his hand to Javert. “And you will have my bed. It’s not much to look at—but my home is yours tonight. And then you’ll sleep.”

Javert gave him a thoughtful look. “Will I?”

“We’ll both sleep,” Rivette said firmly. “But you won’t be alone, I promise. And in the morning—well, in the morning, it will be a different matter. You can do as you please then, I suppose.”

“Can I,” Javert murmured, still looking at Rivette’s hand. It was a strong hand, used to hard work and long hours in his office. A dependable hand. A hand that had been stretched out towards him for many years, although he’d never deigned to take note of it.

With a deep sigh, he now took hold of the hand and allowed Rivette to pull him up. He did not object even when Rivette’s arm came around him, Rivette’s hand lightly resting on his back in unspoken support.

“Perhaps I will.”


End file.
